A Life Regretted
by Yippie
Summary: Fenrir spent most of his life wishing he could go back and make different choices. He gets to go back, but not in the way he wanted or expected.


**A/N: I do not own Harry Potter**

**Written for The Houses Competition**

**House: Lions**

**Class: Potions**

**Category: Standard**

**Prompt: [Event] Waking up as a ghost + [character] Fenrir Greyback + [object] time turner **

**Word count: 2680**

"Something strange happened every time there was a full moon on Halloween, my Da said," blurted Timothy in his heavy Scottish accent. "The witch comes out and she curses ya if your in her swamp."

"There's no such thing as witches, Reginald said as he absent-mindedly tossed some twigs into the fire.

Fenrir shook his head violently. What was going on? He hadn't been here, to his hometown in decades, Timothy should be an old man now. And Reginald… It didn't make sense. Slowly he realized he didn't feel his long hair hitting his cheeks. Fenrir moved a hand through his hair, but felt nothing. He looked down. His body was transparent, covered in only transparent rags. But surely not. He couldn't be a ghost, he had no memory of dying.

"Are too witches!" a little girl of about five shouted out, her face covered in smushed marshmallow. An older girl, about ten, flinched next to her. "Don't be silly Agnes," she said, there are no witches.

"Like you'd know Amoret," Timothy replied, "I bet you're not going to the swamp this Monday."

Agnes didn't respond, but another boy about the same age did. "Lay off her Timothy, she's totally brave enough to go, not like you."

Fenrir flinched as understanding returned to him. His memory seemed sluggish in this new form, but undeniably intact. Amoret had been his childhood crush, a young witch living in his neighborhood. He searched his memory, what had happened to her? He didn't remember. The little girl, Agnes, had been her sister. Timothy and Reginald, he paused, wiping his hand through his nonexistent hair, they had been Muggle boys in the neighborhood. Fenrir refocused on the scene around him, but it dissolved before his eyes.

The next scene didn't take Fenrir any time to remember at all. He was in his childhood bedroom. His ten-year-old self stirred in the bed, displacing his Chudley Cannons comforter as he moved. Fenrir hid himself in the closet so as to not frighten the child. He watched as the boy opened his eyes, too quickly to have been truly been asleep. He must have been pretending. He moved towards the closet, and Fenrir curled himself behind a jacket to avoid being recognized as the child took a toy broomstick from the closet, approached the window and floated gently out the window to the ground.

Intrigued, Fenrir followed. Buoyed by the enthusiasm of his child self he enjoyed for a moment the sensation of flying unaided. Carefully he followed his childhood self. In front of the town common he saw himself meet up with Armoret and Timothy. He felt vaguely convinced that they were going to see the bog witch. But what had happened there? He couldn't remember.

The three children cut into the woods behind the town hall. As the oaks towered above them and cast shadows in the light of the full moon and the owls screeched into the silent night the children's footsteps slowed. Fenrir felt a vague sense of unease himself. Half a mile into the woods Timothy stopped abruptly.

"This is a bad idea, guys" he said. Young Fenrir didn't respond, too stubborn to admit to fear, but frightened enough to welcome the opportunity to back out. Armoret stepped in instead,

"I think it's just owls, and anyway… Ahh!"

Armoret screamed as a figure jumped out of trees and grabbed her shoulders. She turned and reached for her pocket, but young Fenrir grabbed her arm to stop her.

"What's wrong with you!" young Fenrir whispered to the jumping figure who could now be made out to be Reginald.

"I knew you were too chicken," said Reginald, not answering Fenrir's question. The taunt seemed to bolster Fenrir's courage because he marched ahead into the marshy swamp.

The other three children held back. Despite Reginald's bravado, he seemed no more eager to venture out in the dark of night than the other three. Armoret was preoccupied comforting Timothy, who had been rendered Mute by Reginald's attack.

Fenrir followed his young self for two more minutes when the boy stopped abruptly. The ghost, who was still following him stealthily, saw why. The boy must have heard, or rather not heard, the change in his surroundings. The owls and crickets had gone silent. The bog bubbled silently. A shadow was rising slowly at the other end of the clearing.

"Name yourself," the voice said. The boy didn't answer, and the voice asked again, more insistent now, "name yourself!"

"F-F-F-Fenrir," the boy whispered, looking behind him but clearly unable to move.

"Why have you come," asked that the shadow, quieter but no less insistent. The boy didn't answer. This time the shadow didn't ask a second time.

"YOU ARE MINE" the voice said, booming now, "YOU HAVE COME WHERE YOU MUST NOT. I CAST A SPELL ON YOU FOR ALL YOUR LIFE. YOU MAY NEVER GO BACK."

The child seemed to regain control of his limbs, because he turned and ran. He didn't ask the shadow for clarification. The other children ran after him, too scared to ask what had happened. Fenrir floated after the boy. He didn't understand. These events had clearly happened to him, why didn't he remember them?

The next scene Fenrir saw he had no trouble remembering. He floated paralyzed as he watched himself wandering into the forbidden forest on a dare. Why had he taken the dare, he wondered now? Had it been the curse, had that compelled him? He floated in a daze and watched as a werewolf grabbed him, seriously wounding his limbs and chest. He watched a young Madame Pomphrey patch him up, watches Armoret sit by his bedside as he recovers and watched as headmaster Dippet expelled him. Hogwarts was no place for a werewolf. As a ghost, Fenrir learned that the old scars no longer hurt, but his chest still felt full. "You are mine," the voice reminded him.

Fenrir had refused to go to Muggle school after his expulsion. He wandered his childhood neighborhood, growing taller and more handsome, but also more roped in. He continued to see Armoret on school breaks. Fenrir the ghost felt again his youthful despair as each year the young women left for school, learning skills he would never learn.

The year was 1963 when Armoret didn't return. She had been accepted to a potion's apprenticeship in Greece, Fenrir remembered as he floated after his young self. The young man was walking aimlessly near the woods, he didn't notice it when he passed the fire pit where he had once sat with his friends. The ghost felt a vague sense of unease as he watched his younger self sit on an abandoned stump and watch the sunset.

Ten minutes passed and the sun disappeared from the sky, leaving only rays of orange light behind. The ghost spotted a figure passing by. Reginald, he thought. The impetuous boy had grown up to be an outgoing young man. Even after death, Fenrir remembered this about Reginald, but what had happened? Why did he still feel this vague sense of unease.

He didn't have to wonder long. Out of the corner of his eye Fenrir sees the moon. It's full. In his years of watching he had come to realize that as a ghost he wouldn't transfer. But his young self could. Not yet though. Not while the last rays of the sun kept the moon's appearance slightly transparent.

It didn't matter. The ghost heard a voice, "you are mine." It said, "you are mine." Young Fenrir seemed to lose control of his impulses. The ghost watched himself leap off of the stump towards Reginald. He jumped on him, just like Reginald had jumped on Armoret years before. Fenrir didn't stop though, he scratched Reginald's shoulders and sunk his teeth into his neck. As the attack proceeded the werewolf transformed, growing more and more dangerous by the second. The ghost turned away. "Why do I care?" he wondered, "he deserved it." The ghost wasn't so sure though—not anymore.

Fenrir watched helpless. He didn't understand. He was a ghost, he could float anywhere, avoid any harm, but he watched helplessly. Because the attack had occurred before he was fully transformed his teeth marks and blood were found on the crimes scene. His years of adolescent idleness had not endeared him to the local community. He was dragged to Muggle court and quickly convicted and jailed. The ghost felt so so tired as he watched events unfold. So tired and so angry. He would never have met the witch if not for Reginald, never have been isolated and alone.

And then Armoret came home for the funeral. The media interviewed her. The ghost turned away from the window through which he had been watching her interview. He remembered what she had said. He couldn't ignore when she visited him in prison though. "You better stop," she had said, "you know I love you, but I can't anymore" The ghost heard the shadow's voice again, "I put a spell on you. You're mine."

"But I loved her." Fenrir thought.

Fenrir had not spent long in prison, by the 1960s darkness was already falling on the wizarding world. A masked man let Fenrir out of his cell after less than two years. Fenrir watched as his living self was taken to the dark lord. He watched as he turned into a powerful tool, never respected but always feared.

Fenrir didn't want to watch the intervening 15 years, but he felt as cast out as a ghost as he had as a werewolf. He considered returning to Hogwarts, they couldn't very well kick out a ghost there. The ghosts of the castle had taken sides during the Second Wizarding World, and Fenrir had to hide and duck to avoid being seen in the castle. He left for a while, finding shelter in an old abandoned castle. It was lonely, but it was safe.

In 1978 some archeologists started poking around the castles. Fenrir, shy and frightened now fled. Not knowing where else to go, he returned to track his living self. The werewolf wore ragged clothing now, and his hair was long and unkempt. He had been given a new mission to track some members of the Order of the Phoenix.

The ghost watched as he tracked Lily Evans and James Potter. The two were young, barely 18 years old. They sat on two kayaks in the middle of a lake. James looked around surreptitiously and then waved his wand gently, keeping it just out of his pocket. A wave of water rocked the two kayak, tipping Lily's over. She shrieked and swam over to his kayak smiling as he pulled his onto his lap. Fenrir started, he didn't need to watch this, Voldemort would just want to know where the two were, not what they were doing. He looked behind the trees where his living-self hid. The werewolf was still there, watching the scene hungrily.

Fenrir would spend the next months splitting his time between watching the young couple and watching his own interactions with the dark lord. He saw how the dark lord sliced his face with a casual wave of his wand and felt anger flare as the death eaters laughed. "There's your mark," Voldemort had said, Fenrir had never been given a dark mark on his arm. Fenrir wondered why he hadn't left. It wasn't as though alliance with the dark lord had brought him physical comfort or companionship. "You are mine," The shadow's voice said

The ghost returned to his mission. Having drank Wolfsbane he hid himself in wolf form among the woods. A lantern provided light from the inside of the tent as the smell of barbeque rose from an oven outside the tent. James and Lily emerged from the tent, laughing gently. She flipped the burgers and James loaded their plates with food. They ate surrounded by laughter and companionable silence. Fenrir watched himself whimper quietly and paw at the dirt. Then James eased himself off the bench and onto one knee. Fenrir heard Lily answer. "Yes." The wolf howled.

Fenrir didn't attend the wedding. He told himself it was because it would have been too hard to remain hidden among all of the numerous members of the Order who would be in attendance. That wasn't true, he would admit to himself in a quiet moment. A ghost could shrink themselves into small spaces it needed. But he didn't attend the wedding. In any case, he had something else to do.

He had been tasked with tracking down some plans captured by the Order. A Death Eater had foolishly written plans to eliminate a troublesome Auror down on a piece of enchanted parchment. The plans had been stolen by the Order of the Phoenix. Voldemort's anger had been a thing to witness. Fenrir had been watching Lily's apartment at the time. He had seen her and James return, tired, sweaty, and victorious. She was badly cut and bruised from a booby trap that had gone off. Fenrir had watched James bandage her cuts and gently work his fingers over the bruises.

The Order didn't know the loss of the plans had been discovered. Fenrir had been tasked with finding them. If the Order thought Voldemort's forces were still protecting the original plan it would throw them off the scent of the new plan that had been put in place. Fenrir had tracked the paper to the home of the Tonks. He suspected the papers would be protected by Muggle rather than magical means. The Order knew the dark lord controlled powerful magicians. He was right, and found the papers hidden inside a hollow panel in the wall. Because of his expulsion, the ministry still tracked his magic, so he couldn't risk testing to see if the original enhancement protecting the information on the parchment had been broken. As he drew the parchment out of the wall, he heard a clang as metal fell to the floor. He looked down, grabbed a time-turner from the floor, and put it in his pocket.

Fenrir was there on New Year's Day of 1980. He was watching Lily and James sit in each other's arms on a single loveseat. Lily hovered popcorn kernels over the fire and caused them to fly at the couple as they popped. The two competed to see who could swallow the popcorn. Abruptly Lily stopped, "I have something to tell you." James sat, looking intently but not saying anything. "I'm pregnant."

Fenrir watched himself freeze. He remembered his fear, knowing that this information would have to be brought to the dark lord. He knew his living-self was remembering Amoret's face and what he could have had. The werewolf clumsily fished the time-turner from his pocket and started turning it. Five times. Ten. Twenty. Forty. He turned the disk enough to go back to before that day at the swamp, but nothing happened. "YOU ARE MINE." The shadowy voice reminded him, he wouldn't be allowed to reverse the path of his life.

The ghost flew from the scene. He would spend the next year hidden—in forests and abandoned castles. It didn't matter anymore. He spent some time in Azkaban, his living-self was too insane to recognize the ghost in his cell. He stayed after his living-self escaped and the dementors left. The abandoned fortress seemed fitting.

One day, Fenrir felt a lurch. He saw the time turner spinning again and again in front of him. In front of him, he saw Amoret's face and then his own body, falling down a set of stairs at Hogwarts. "You are mine. All your life," the shadow had said. Fenrir understood. He had feared death, all Voldemort's servants had, his fear had been so great he had been forced to live it twice. Each bad decision, each awful turn, once as a werewolf and again as a ghost. As the spinning time turner filled his vision, Fenrir let his ghostly body disintegrate. He wasn't afraid anymore.


End file.
